Manic Time Scattering Dust
by rhyme time
Summary: He rearranges her words until he has hope.


Disclaimer: Not mine.  
>Author's Notes: References to several episodes including the season finale. My obsession with 3x24, and Castle in general, continues. Four months is a long time to fill in the blanks. Forgive me?<p>

Also, thanks so much for the positive reviews of my previous story, _Thaumaturgy_. I appreciate it.

xXx

_Stay by my side as my light grows dim_

_as my blood slows down and my nerves shatter with stabbing pain_

_as my heart grows weak_

_and the wheels of my being turn slowly._

_Stay by my side_

_as my fragile body is racked by pain_

_which verges on truth_

_and manic time continues scattering dust_

_and furious life bursts out in flames._

_Stay by my side_

_as I fade_

_so you can point to the end of my struggle_

_and the twilight of eternal days_

_at the low, dark edge of life._

_The Devil's Backbone _

xXx

In the aftermath, when he thaws, is when he realizes he will never get over her, around her, or in any way past the moment he met her.

It isn't even love. Or not only love. Love is inadequate. It's need and desire and something like fulfillment he feels only in her presence. It's admiration and longing. He thinks sometimes it borders on obsession. It's all the words he knows and doesn't know.

He chooses her over Alexis.

He makes provisions for his daughter, insures Alexis and his mother are outside the expected blast radius, but he's willing to die with Kate. He's willing to follow her blindfolded down a dark road that leads to nowhere. He just wants to be holding her hand when the world ends.

He doesn't know what kind of man that makes him. And when they don't die, coming back from the abyss to fall instead into each other's embrace, he doesn't care.

xXx

He's dating her, but she doesn't know it. She takes him to see _Forbidden Planet_, and he thinks the title is oddly reflective of their relationship.

His laughs are forced as he tries to watch the movie without anticipation of what's to come. Altaira's ignorance about swimsuits and Adams' response elicits the closest thing to an authentic reaction.

When she leans into him, whispering in his ear to, "Watch this part, Castle. _Watch!"_ he pretends to focus on the screen. His peripheral vision keeps him otherwise occupied.

She's not one of those women whose uniqueness skirts the edge beautiful. He doesn't have to look for her pretty. She could have been an actress or a model or a trophy wife for some unappreciative prick lawyer. Or doctor. But her mother was murdered and he'd bet she's the most beautiful cop on the force. Anywhere. Ever. Since the dawn of time. It hits him, then, that if her mother hadn't died he would never have met her.

At the end of their not-date, he leans in and gives her a goodnight kiss on the cheek. He lingers, and she allows it. She pushes a half-eaten bag of M&Ms into his hand. "These are yours. For later," she says.

In the cab ride on the way home, he analyzes her words. He falls asleep rearranging them until he has hope.

The next day he rises early and takes flowers to her mother's grave.

xXx

He rings the doorbell because it's the only thing he can do.

It's moments like these when he's acutely aware he's not a cop. They live in separate worlds. In this world, he's an interloper. He brings coffee and tells stories to lighten the mood, but at night he goes home and writes away the unhappy endings, ties up the loose ends. Alexis distracts him. His mother amuses him. Kate stays in her world with his transitory gifts and lives with it. She turns a window into her mother's murder board. What should bring in light is only a reminder of the dark.

He doesn't attempt levity. For once, he doesn't try to make it easier. She's lost in her silence and he leaves her there.

He's caught off guard when she leans against his shoulder. He still feels the press of her body against his, her pleading, wet mouth under his hand, his repeated apology finally calming her. Her body convulsed every time a shot was fired, a little more life draining out of her. When all is said and done he wonders what will be left.

Whatever is left, he'll take it. Some of her is better than nothing at all. He doesn't care if that makes him pathetic.

He's fucked a lot of women, but he's never felt as close to them as he does fully-clothed and vertical next to her. This is the spell she's cast over him.

Again he presses the doorbell.

Evelyn Montgomery opens the door and knows. She invites them in anyway, nervously twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"Detective Beckett," she says, oddly formal. "Kate," she amends.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry," Kate replies. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she says. "Roy was killed in the line of duty tonight."

In the few seconds it takes for Kate to say the words, Evelyn's face morphs from trepidation to grief-stricken and tears are rolling down her cheeks faster than she can wipe them away, propelled by more force than she can combat with her long, graceful fingers.

In her eyes, the world ends. "Oh, God," she says. "God help me."

He watches Kate and Evelyn drift toward each other, grief a binding force, and they embrace.

He wonders what Evelyn was doing before the doorbell rang. Was she watching the clock, marking time, wondering why the captain was late coming home from work? Was she eating dinner? Reading a book? Later, when she has time to think, will she wonder how she didn't know? They'd spent 30 years together. How could she not know he was gone?

Kate doesn't shed a tear. Her back is ramrod straight. Her voice is soothing, composed, unwavering. She is unshakeable. He is impressed by her resolve.

In the car on the ride home, she crumbles, tragically, completely, and he wonders how many times in their years of knowing each other he's misread her.

Wordlessly, she guides the car onto the shoulder, and they perform a slow-motion version of a Chinese fire drill. He slips into the driver's seat just as she slams the passenger door. He looks at her, but she's staring out the window. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt across her body, the locking mechanism clicking into place.

He wonders what he misses when she is in the car alone. He wonders what secrets she gives up in his absence.

xXx

She walks Ryan and Esposito to the door and they say their goodbyes.

It is three in the morning and they've settled on a course of action about Montgomery. Hardnosed, hardassed Beckett isn't playing by the rules. The betrayal they share, but she's the one with the dead mother.

No one has the balls or the heart to argue with her.

Montgomery will go down a hero. He is amazed by the amount of forgiveness in her.

Castle sits in the chair he's been occupying for hours. She moves around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets.

She sets a bottle of Balvenie Doublewood along with two tumblers on the coffee table.

As she's pouring their drinks, she says, "I broke up with Josh."

"When?" he asks casually.

Glancing at him, she pushes a tumbler full of Scotch his way. "After I got back from California," she replies.

"Thanks," he says, taking the glass from her. Shame settles over him. Maybe she's right and he doesn't know her at all.

"To Roy Montgomery," she proclaims too loudly, too evenly, her glass clinking against his.

Castle nods. "To the captain," he says.

They both swallow the contents of their glasses and sit for a moment in silence.

Kate tips the bottle his way, her eyebrow arching in question. He nods and she refills his glass. She slides onto his lap just as easily as the Scotch slides down his throat. "Don't you dare try to be noble," she says. "Not now."

The bottle thuds loudly onto the floor when he kisses her. The glass follows and breaks. He never had any intention of being noble when it came to this moment with her.

It is frantic and passionate and just as indescribable as the way he feels about her.

He feels like she's exorcising demons – his, hers, theirs, and then she inhales his soul in her kiss. He lets her have it, bends forward to give her more.

Hands are everywhere. Her mouth ghosts over him, never staying anywhere for too long. He takes what he can get and unbuttons her shirt with slightly more finesse than an inexperienced teenager.

She moans into his mouth and unbuckles his belt.

He stands up and she moves with him, her legs hooked around his waist. Her back hits a wall and she grunts but it seems to spur her on. Her fingers make quick work of the buttons on his shirt and then it's off and he feels the wake of her kiss across his chest.

They stagger to the bed and fall into it like they've fallen into each other – hard, haphazardly, completely.

She moves over him and he's inside her, and he wishes he could've savored the moment. But she's always taken him by surprise, and he wonders why this time should be any different.

She rocks back and forth, looking for all the world like a wounded goddess, and she is as beautiful and tragic as he's always imagined she would be in this moment. He doubts he can be what she needs. She climaxes loudly, her voice hoarse with emotion, and he follows soon after. They are both sweat-soaked and exhausted. She wraps her arms around his neck and cries, and he holds her against him because she's letting him and because there's nothing else he can do for her.

Eventually she slides onto the bed, on her side, and sleeps. He watches her, contemplating what they're going to do, how he's going to protect her, what tomorrow will bring.

Hours and hours and he watches her because maybe he'll never again have this luxury. Maybe it's already over only he doesn't know it.

She moves slowly and blinks awake. It's still dark and the shadows make it easier for him to be brave. His hand moves over the curve of her bare hip. "Please don't tell me to stop," he says, leaning in for a kiss.

She doesn't say anything. She kisses him back.

The first time was for comfort, the second time is for them.

xXx

They meet at the Old Haunt for a drink before the funeral. Most of the 12th is there.

When she crashes in the ambulance, in the ER, and Dr. Anderson sends an assistant out of the OR to tell him the bullet nicked her heart and it'll take a miracle for her to survive, it's this memory he'll revisit.

_She's in her dress blues leaning against the bar and he slips his arm around her shoulder. Contact but not too intimate for a public venue. She doesn't complain or pull away. _

_Ryan and Esposito tell stories. Others join in. It's the raucousness associated with grief – laughter that at any moment may give way to tears._

_They linger on the edge, apart from the group, but not alone._

"_Will you be all right?" he asks._

_She turns to him, and for the first time in three days there aren't tears in her eyes. "You're here aren't you?"_

"_Yes," he says._

"_And you'll be by my side?" she questions, although it's not really a question._

"_Yes," he replies._

_She shifts on her feet and leans against him. "I'll be all right."_

xXx

_End_


End file.
